


I Had a Dream and You Were There

by poisontaster



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Post-Episode: s02e13 Exit Wounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-09
Updated: 2008-04-09
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:27:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: Coda to Exit Wounds.





	I Had a Dream and You Were There

Ianto shuts down the terminal and pushes it back, feeling a tiredness that extends far beyond physicality weighting at his bones, making him feel several stones heavier than his actual weight. Strangely, there's no pain yet. 

Or, perhaps not so strangely. He's been through this before, the cold fug of numbness that allows him to breathe and talk and move through what otherwise might cripple him. It's hard for him to remember that they won today. Hard to count this as a victory at all, with Cardiff smoldering above their—above his head and their own casualties on their way to hard-freeze in the morgue like a bit of hamburger about to go off. 

Ianto shoots his cuffs, adjusting the deep rose cotton so that only a quarter-inch shows from beneath his suit coat sleeves. He can feel the stopwatch pressed to his ribs through his fob pocket, but he doesn't draw it out to consult the time. It really doesn't matter what time it is. 

A scrape of sound reminds him that Jack is still in his office. Glancing up, Ianto watches Jack's shadow cross the glass, though he can't see the man himself. He should go to Jack, he thinks, but the same leadenness that makes him want to curl up and sleep under the terminal glues him to his seat, a deep unwillingness that he's afraid to jar for fear it will strip the anaesthesising numbness from him. 

There's a part of him that deeply wants to go to Jack, to immerse himself in the illusion of protection found in Jack's arms around him. He wants to put his head on one of those broad shoulders, close his eyes and work on synchronising his breath and heartbeat to Jack's. But Jack has burdens of his own without Ianto adding to them.

Time to go home, Ianto thinks, finally rising.

He's more than halfway to the door when the scuff of Jack's shoe above him signals Jack's presence. Though Jack doesn't say anything, Ianto stops in place anyway. 

"Are you going?" Jack has the wrecked not-crying tone to his voice; impossible to read for anything other than his natural grief.

"I was, yeah." Ianto doesn't look up for several beats. When he does finally, it feels like he's steeling himself for something. He doesn't know what. Perhaps just the sight of Jack himself, red-rimmed eyes and slumped shoulders. 

"I thought you might stay." 

It's carefully said. So carefully that Ianto doesn't know how to ferret out Jack's desire from it. "Long day," Ianto observes, mirroring Jack's blandness. "Thought you might want your rest."

Jack tips his head, the lines of his mouth unsteady, unable to hold shape. "Oh. I do. But I'd rather not do it alone." He holds out his hand.

It's natural for Ianto to take a step toward him, start to reach. Still… "Jack—"

"I'd like it if you'd stay," Jack interrupts, the way he always does. "The Hub…" He trails off and looks aside, as though he's waiting for Tosh or Owen—or maybe their ghosts—to come drifting through. And perhaps he is. "It's too quiet. Please, Ianto?"

"Of course, sir." A thin current of relief snakes through Ianto's cold, a bare hint of the warmth he craves.

"Jack." Jack comes down the stairs, already reaching.

Ianto moves to meet him, hands lifting to grasp. "Of course, Jack."


End file.
